His Promised Land
by Nephilim Rising
Summary: Dissidia-based AU. If you are not afraid of dying, there is nothing you cannot achieve. Sephiroth/Cloud - NOT a romance. T for death themes. For dreamysherry.


_**Summary: **_He sought himself among the fight that concerned him little; he sacrificed his life to study the boundaries heretofore unchallenged. He thought he could change nothing, but the word 'nothing' never satisfied him.

_**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing and no one, and no profit is sought from this work of pure imagination.

_**Pairings: **_None. I don't pair up Sephiroth and Cloud, ever.

_**A/N: **_Dissidia based, Sephiroth-centered oneshot written as an early Birthday gift for my dear dreamysherry, who always inspires me with loads of things.

_**Warning:**_ AU. Violence, character's death.

* * *

**HIS PROMISED LAND**

"_If you are not afraid of dying, there is nothing you cannot achieve."_

The world was born out of two beginnings, equally powerful, equally important, and opposite in their essence; before the breath of life touched it, the world was begotten from light and darkness, from chaos and harmony, and annihilating one would obliterate the other. The world was an endless conflict, a perpetual and meaningless cycle of life and death, an everlasting war. Two opposite origins had to fight, for it was an intrinsic quality of opposites; each time they met blood was shed, and each time there were no victors, no defeated, as it was pithily impossible to win or lose. Death was painful, but no less excruciating was rebirth when, devoid of memories, of individuality, of purpose, they were brought back from the life source and hurled into battle that knew no end.

As others like him, he wasn't supposed know, to question the order of nature, but life without understanding or simply blindness never satisfied him. Among the ways comfortably shoved under his feet by clever puppeteers, he always sought his own and with the same certainty he knew his name was Sephiroth he also knew that one day his path would be found.

He began by taking his own life, mercilessly slitting his throat right in front of those fools, whereupon fell into the source of life whereat all memories began returning to him, one by one in the incoherent succession of images he at first could not find the meaning to. There was too much reminiscent pain in every picture, as if dying and being reborn wasn't a new experience for him, and all other calamities that befell him in this world were naught compared to hell he has been through before, in life that was now sealed away from him. In life he longed to return to.

In life that was not ephemeral.

He was a son of the second beginning, begotten from darkness and by it given a single jet-black wing many thought was a despicable stigma. In his previous life he was a SOLDIER, or should he say – _the_ SOLDIER – for he was the very first one of his kind and the very best. By error having learned he was born as an attempt to resurrect the once powerful race human beings forsook, he turned away from them and carved a new bloody path to complete himself in the image of a god.

His name was… Sephiroth, and now the name held a meaning.

He knew he changed the natural order of things, he _remembered _who he was, and the retribution would be swift and imminent unless he followed a slippery path that would lead him to desired freedom.

To his Promised Land.

* * *

Silver gently swaying with each step, Sephiroth approached the end of the rocky path, froze, Massamune dripping blood in his left hand. He suddenly felt a familiar presence, and the fight with the Warrior no longer interested him, appearing to be a quite boring undertaking in the light of his new discoveries. Could it be that his scheme was working faster than he thought it would?

"I have a query," a lazy, confident smirk curved the silver-haired general's lips, "why do you wield the sword and fight?"

He should have expected a rather blunt, "To obtain the crystals and end the fighting." So, he was right, and the crystals bore significance for these children; the smirk didn't fade as a small rose appeared in long refined fingers, having flickered scarlet in the lightning that momentarily scorched the greenish substance that supplanted the welkin.

"Fighting to end the fighting… humph, how poetic. However, yours is a vain hope, for there would always be those like me, who…" He almost said – who knew how to prevent it from happening, but restrained himself, having added a meaningless, "… who find pleasure in it. You and I are the same entities befitting this closed-off world."

"A wild rose… that was Firion's…"

The Warrior's astonishment would have been amusing if not for the sudden, sharper prick of recognition, a flare of light behind the closed eyelids. This time Sephiroth felt it with his whole existence.

_He_ was close.

In general's previous lives he was a marionette, a boy with little will of his own, with gifts given to him by chance and luck and thus undeserved. For his abilities, knowledge, and power Sephiroth paid a behooved price, but that boy was nobody until the chance encounter changed both of their destinies; indeed, it changed their fates, but it hardly changed the fact that Cloud – yes, his name was Cloud – was still a toy, which hardly realized its purpose of existence.

"The time has come. I must face him and fulfill my obligation."

The Warrior of Light wanted to add something, but Sephiroth wasn't listening any longer, having teleported away.

* * *

It was night reigning over the skies and the road he was traveling, a boy with short spiky hair in the uniform that SOLDIER used to wear in the days when he was the general. Sephiroth stood, intently staring at the approaching figure through the weightless orbs of light floating in the air akin to bright comet tails. Silver regally cascaded over leather clad shoulders, and, clenched in his left hand, Massamune glistened with deadly steel sparks in wan, flickering light. Emerald eyes with cat-like pupils as silver-black slits into the void were fixed on his rival aimlessly roving around the path until Cloud came close enough to hear his greeting.

"Long time no see, Cloud."

"Sephiroth!"

Black leather of a long coat flowed round the slender frame as the former general gracefully took a fighting stance. There was uncertainty in the wavering glance of huge naïve eyes, weakness that hid deeper than the boy showed; he knew no purpose of his fight, having long forgotten why he was being drawn into this endless battle, but having no strength and wit to find that answer. It was how Sephiroth was used to fighting – finding a weakness in the enemy and striking at this weakness with all available might and prowess.

"Why won't you take up your sword?" The silk in Sephiroth's deep voice was taunting, the gibe flickering on the surface and then gaining strength as Cloud continued to stand, defenseless.

"Fighting you would be… meaningless… I am tired of taking part in pointless battles."

_Are you, Cloud? How unfortunate… puppets asking themselves too many questions are still puppets…_

"Then if you had a reason, you would fight anyone?"

"No! All I want is to believe in why I fight!"

"Humph!" Sephiroth allowed a condescending smirk to flit across his face at the sound of desperate conviction in his nemesis' voice. "Nothing but a puppet."

_Puppets asking themselves too many questions are still puppets, for it is up to others to provide them with answers… Answers I deem useful for myself…_

A scarlet rose appeared in his gloved hand, so brittle, so easily to be trampled upon if he desired; a childish dream encased in fragile colors of glass and hope. He once had that nondescript hope. No matter.

"A dream is easy to nip in the bud. How pitiful, to live the life hanging onto something this fragile." With those words, Sephiroth let go of the rose, and it landed onto the crude stones with a doleful ding, faded green and scarlet shimmering by his feet.

"It's Firion's wild rose!" Sephiroth uttered a scornful deep-throat laugh, now towering above the blonde boy and a lone flower, shoulders unbent, posture perfectly straight. "No! What have you done to them?"

Was it despair?

"So now you have your purpose. Come after me… Cloud."

Shimmering purple, Sephiroth's tall slender frame vanished in thin air, having left the youth to himself and his solitude. Disappearing, the former general smiled.

_Your only purpose ever was to free me… Cloud…_

_

* * *

_

The _others_ suspected he was doing something different this time they were resurrected. Wary glances followed his steps each time Sephiroth met one of his chance allies, distrustful whispers caressed his sensitive ears, enmity hid in gestures, postures, fleeting smirks. The Emperor was among those he disliked most, and visa versa. He once referred to the former general as the danger to the _plan_, but the truth was Sephiroth cared little about their petty schemes, and his own design was the reflection of his wishes, not theirs.

This time it was the Emperor and Ultimecia, a sorceress of sorts; they stood, conversing sprightly, until Sephiroth neared them enough to catch the words being spoken, whereupon silence ensued.

The Emperor took a long step forward, glancing at the former general as he did almost at anyone – as if they were insects. Certainly, Sephiroth himself didn't lack arrogance, but this man's hubris was one even he couldn't endure. His speech was as pompous and as meaningless as his actions hitherto have been.

"No doubt paradise is within our grasp, but what matters is afterwards. Once the gods trade places with us, and I shall rule this world, what side will you be on? What say you join forces with us now, Sephiroth? You, too, must be sickened by these…_ feckless_ destroyers amongst us."

He was referring to Exdeath and those like him amid their ranks, but as everything else that concerned this world, it was of little interest to the former general of Shin-Ra. That Sephiroth didn't fail to express, barely having shifted his gaze towards the Emperor's frame clad in yellow; even perpetually changing purple skies were more exciting to watch.

"I am not interested."

"I don't think you quite understand the position you are in." Ultimecia intervened with a thin, knowing smile. "Most of others are on our side, and when Chaos falls…"

"And if I don't? Would you care to… explain?"

Angered, the sorceress pulled down her perfectly fitting dress. "When Chaos falls, there will be just two sides left – with us or against us. Being… neutral won't serve you well."

Was it a petty threat? Sephiroth hemmed, slowly pivoting on his heels. If his plan works – and it _will_ work – he won't be there when Chaos falls. The former general looked up as if in this purple void attempting to find the signs of whether it was time for the next step in his scheme.

Whether it was time to see Cloud again.

* * *

It was another of these spiral staircases into nothingness and surrounded by nothingness – walls of swirling greenish substance that yielded each time he neared their inexistent borders. A strange place this world was, an illusion to the general's eyes, someone's stage for the redundant play whereat actors knew their words, but never the roles. Only he was beginning to put the pieces of this conundrum together, and while others – like the Emperor – plotted to take over this world, he never wished for that petty power, imagining his design a life-long road through the worlds with the Promised Land at its end. A journey of knowledge.

A journey his Mother took a long time ago.

"I knew you'd come, for you always do as you are told to, don't you? You look for a reason because you don't want to be swept into a fight… humph." He chuckled, extending his hand as if in a gesture of offering. The jewels of his wristband tinkled, flashing in soft, never-fading light of the surroundings. "But you just look and _do_ nothing to follow your desire. That is why you are so eager to make someone else's reason your own."

"What's your point?" Cloud still did not understand. No wonder; all puppets didn't.

"Your companions could get hurt, yet they'd still have their will to continue their search. But what about you?" Emerald eyes slowly blinked, framed by fluttering silver tresses that cascaded over the former general's broad chest. "You are nothing but a puppet that gets swept away, unable to make decisions on its own."

Cloud's hands clenched into fists, anger ebullient on the surface, but deep within the blonde Sephiroth could sense perplexity so strong it once again elicited a smirk. It would be over soon for both of them; once and for all over.

"You are wrong. I just -- "

Sephiroth took a couple of steps, gliding by the frozen youth, and flutters of long leather coat followed his every movement, deadly in grace, which was honed into his very body by debilitating training.

"So… I'll continue to provide you with a reason every time you need one."

"Shut up! I've had enough of being told what to fight for! I came here on my own will."

"Is that so? Your own will? You would have never sought me had we not met, and we met only since I decided so. There is something I need _you_ to find." _For it is in your power only to procure that, which I happened to desire._

"I am not going to..." Blue eyes under frowning eyebrows were shining with obstinate resolve, fists still clenched and posture stiff.

"You have no choice."

Having flared up, Massamune flew out of the sheath with faint rustle, as with deadly grace the former general of Shin-Ra changed his relaxed pose to the fighting stance. This time Cloud called for the infamous Buster, the latter's pose a mirror of his own.

Swords flew up and asunder with a faint steel clang; something silver flashed before his eyes as he pivoted on his heels ready to strike. The former general didn't expect it, having barely contrived to parry Cloud's thrust, which hurled him back, into the greenish void.

_How…_

Feet lost support, and Sephiroth was falling, falling again as in his old memories…

… _greenish substance closing around him, smothering, his Mother's head clutched to his chest, and somewhere above his previous life was fading, turning into miniscule steel-gray dot of the platform in the mako reactor…_

… he flinched from old pain, having slowed the fall and regaining his cold composure after the small blunder. The blonde youth hastily rushed after him, falling with the tip of Buster sword pointed to his heart, malign determination to end everything here shining in sky-blue eyes.

"Sephiroth, go back to sleep!"

_Not today…_

A silver lightning, Massamune shot up to meet the broad blade in the air, blazed up from the handle to the thinnest tip as steel hit steel; gloved hand lifted aloft, Sephiroth called onto the power of his sword, releasing myriads of ghostly blades, against which his nemesis barely held afloat, grunting from enormous effort to withhold their might.

"Accept it! I am the one, who guides you forever."

A twitch of his wrist was enough to send Massamune athwart, swishing through unyielding air; his body followed, whirling in the maelstrom of pristine silver, his strikes precise and never wasteful. Cloud attempted to defend himself, but the power of the general's thrusts was inhuman, and even infused with the latter's cells, the youth could not withstand. Cloud's strength sapped, resolve shattered against the barrage of illusory blades, and then he was falling backwards, like a helpless rag doll.

A huge stone platform stopped the blonde youth's fall. The former general leapt into the air and gracefully landed therebeside, long flaps of leather coat flying around his slender frame. Silver-emerald eyes were watching the pitiful frame sprawled flat at his feet, faithful Massamune clenched in his left hand in case Cloud decided to surprise him, however, the boy did nothing but stir and groan.

How the blonde used to defeat him before their encounters in this world was a recondite matter.

"You remember nothing, Cloud, don't you?" The youth didn't answer, having resolutely raised himself on both palms, Buster Sword – which once belonged to his friend – forgotten by his side. "But we used to be mortal enemies."

"That I know, Sephiroth!"

"You do? That makes things easier, don't you think?" Massamune rose, as if in a mocking salute to the fallen grace. Cloud glared at him, fingers clenching around the handle of his weapon, yet ere the blonde could move…

_You have to hate me, Cloud, as you have never hated anything else…_

Massamune flickered, having left a painful mark on smooth skin of the youth's bare forearm – even the ephemeral, evanescent existence could bleed.

"Find it, Cloud, and we will meet again. Until then – farewell."

* * *

Sephiroth remembered their encounter in Nibelheim reactor in every poignant detail, as if it has just happened and, perplexed, frightened, torn by splitting pain, he was falling through greenish haze and towards the bottom that never existed. It happened so quickly then. One moment he was standing by the glass cylinder whereat his Mother has been imprisoned for many years, admiring her features, and the next one a long crack meandered before his eyes; at first the former general could not understand whence it appeared. Blood followed, trickled along the white fissure, heavy droplets falling onto his gloved fingers, faster, thicker, drumming in his suddenly clouded head as bullets hitting steel. Something stirred within him, something foreign; the nauseating wave rolled in and receded, stealing his breath away. It took all his willpower not to fall onto his knees and groan as the cold blade left his body the way it pierced, cowardly, from behind.

And long before that… the short, spiky-haired boy was timidly standing before him, eyes shining with silent adoration…

"_Sir, may I watch you fight…"_

"_Very well… Cloud…"_

Silver-green eyes fluttered open, dark, icy, bottomless, brightly flared up between thick fringe of black lashes. Sephiroth slightly staggered, remembering old pain and nearly forgotten wounds, but regained his composure soon enough not to let others notice he had a moment of weakness. Useless questions would follow, and, besides, he was not going to give anyone satisfaction of seeing his weakness.

Steps light, fading in darkness, slender leather-clad silhouette unnoticeably slipped through the throng of arguing conspirators, this time having attracted no unwanted attention. They could be dividing this ephemeral power as much as they desired; for all he cared they would never possess any power over him.

The jet-black wing fluttered, proudly spread in the windless air, and – when Sephiroth jumped – huge feathers were left circling their way downwards, inexorably drawn to the ground with force that was as omnipresent as light or darkness.

It was time for their last fateful encounter.

* * *

Sephiroth gracefully pushed off the stone, which hovered in thin air without any support, backflipped into the emptiness, at the same time parrying Cloud's disorderly attacks. Below him greenish void opened its avid embrace, yet soon enough his feet found another part of solid ground, then another as he continued to jump from one stone to the other, light, silvery butterfly.

Cloud sent an ice storm after him, but the former general parried it with almost disdainful ease, landing on another firm stone. The blonde followed with pertinacious bigotry towards the flashing sword. Massamune described a long arc, decussated blades grinded, bestrewing darkness with sparks, and in them Cloud's face appeared sinisterly pale.

"Your place is in my memories only, Sephiroth!"

With a scoff the former general dodged a weak riposte, jumped and pivoted to meet the Buster, clenched the broad brand between thin blade of his faithful Massamune and Cloud's shoulder pauldron. With a little push the blonde yielded, took one step backwards, then another.

"You are the one, who clings to the old memories."

Blades flew asunder, sending crystal-clear dings through the air; having brushed a shorter silver lock off his forehead, Sephiroth leapt up into the air, for a moment hovering above the blonde, then swiftly rushed to the small figure that fearlessly raised the broad Buster. The blow landed harshly, sending ripples through his strained muscles and finally knocking the weapon out of the boy's hands.

Cloud helplessly stared at the emptiness as his Buster sword lingered on the brink of the green void, balancing for a split instant, and then disappeared.

Sephiroth smirked with content, tip of his Massamune dancing mere inches from the blonde's throat. Cloud was breathing heavily, and all signs of fatigue he felt were a single bead of sweat on the forehead.

"Now, give me the crystal."

"No," Cloud stubbornly whispered, "You… will never…"

It reminded the former general of something that happened long ago, only what he had requested of Cloud then remained lost in crushed, incomplete memories he regained in the life source. Thin smirk touched the edges of Sephiroth's lips as he extended his arm, cold, biting eyes chained with the sky-blue lakes. It somehow felt important that the youth gave him the crystal on his own accord – the former general could have beheaded him with the same result.

Cloud's hand twitched, slowly rose to meet his, tips of gloved fingers brushing against each other, and Sephiroth felt the coolness of the small orb even through leather. Sky-blue eyes wide with horror, the blonde was watching his body disobey his will and bend to the general's cold, sharp gaze.

"Why…"

"Humph, nothing but a puppet."

The silver-haired general thrust Massamune into the boy's chest, turned the blade to the left for a swift quick death and freed it thereafter, sending a trail of carmine droplets through the air. Cloud whimpered, collapsing at his feet in a heap of limp bloodied flesh, and only huge, sky-blue eyes continued to stare at him as if with silent reproach.

This was the end… the thought was suddenly weary.

In Cloud's crystal was the residue of its bearer's life essence, making the latter stronger and yet more vulnerable. Should the crystal be undone, Cloud would never be able to be revived in this world, if at all.

Sephiroth twiddled the toy in his hand, then clenched it with force. The small crystal shattered in his gloved fingers, and with the last glimmer of a green spark the sky-blue eyes of his puppet became colorless voids.

* * *

Voices were screaming something incoherent in his head, frightened, loud, vexing voices, and yet pleasant all the same. _They_ were befuddled, helpless; all those pitiful schemers so certain of themselves and their success now amused him with their fear when the realization of _what_ he had achieved sank in completely.

Sephiroth stood before them, as if about to be judged, and yet beyond their power to carry out the final verdict; betrayer, their gazes screamed, insolent pawn. They demanded he returned to the fitting place in this world among them, and then silence ensued as abruptly as it was broken with his appearance. Sephiroth would laugh had he regained his ability to speak.

The Emperor took a step towards him.

Above, the skies became vermillion, spitting flames as meaningless curses towards the innocent earth, towards his defying every law presence.

His sham indifference fooled everyone, and none realized soon enough what he had conceived.

"I shall rule this world, and you will bow before me, insect!" The Emperor was forgetting himself in anger, aiming his staff at the former general, but belatedly understanding that 'twas a vain attempt to stop the latter. The world was born of two beginnings, perfected in parity and each given the same might. Yet, the equilibrium was cruelly destroyed, too much power was thrown into the scales, threatening to tear this strange place atwain, and to restore the balance he had to vanish. An unfamiliar tingling was slowly spreading inside him, and, having lowered his gaze, Sephiroth noticed the flap of his black coat shimmer, fading. He could no longer move a limb. "I order you to return now!"

How pathetic. At least others froze in genuine bewilderment, not saying a word, only staring as he was leaving this world to its eternal wars and schemes forevermore. What became of them, of Chaos and Cosmos, he never knew, for the puppet fulfilled its only purpose, having set him free.

Sephiroth gently smirked when the skies above blossomed with crimson for the last time.

Ahead of him was a long, hard journey through the worlds – to his Promised Land.

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
